Page 50 of The Fixer

“Jet.” Gripping his hand, I pushed it down toward the table but didn’t let go.

“It’s true.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I forced myself to look at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jet’s thumb pressed into his throat and his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath it. “Yes.”

“How long has it been?”

“About a month.”

“A month?” Before he could respond, our waiter arrived with our wine and my water. Jet busied the man, tasting the wine, giving him our order, the whole time talking to him as if they, too, were friends. When he left our table, Jet lifted his glass to his lips and took a long drink.

“A month?” I repeated, my hand slipping over his forearm on the table. He looked at it and I had to force myself not to pull away.

“Yes,” he said, all gravel and grit. As if the word hurt to say.

“And the funeral home? Is it…?” I wasn’t sure what I was asking. What I wanted to know. But those mercurial eyes rose to find mine, and the danger in those depths had me shutting my mouth.

“It’s my father’s business. I’m unneeded. Unwanted there.”

“Surely that can’t be true,” I offered, but the man shook his head, covering my hand with his.

“In this case, it is. And I’m glad. I’ve never wanted to be there.” He drifted, if only for a second, then refocused on me. “Never.”

A dark shadow passed over him and I swore a cold chill swept through the room. He reached for his wine again, fingering the stem before lifting it for another drink.

“It’s not a matter of love,” he said quietly, “if that’s what you’re thinking. I love my family, and they love me. But the job.”

He spit the word as if it were rancid meat, disgust written all over his face. I stayed silent, watching. Hoping he’d say more, wanting to understand.

“I’ve always aspired to be more,” he said finally. “To not be tied down to that place, to be stuck doing the same thing, day in and day out. I think I knew before I could walk that I couldn’t live like that.”

“And your family is okay with that?”

His face pinched with some unknown emotion. He thumbed again at his throat. “They are now. It took them a few years, but… things changed. Now, when I’m there, they look at me like I don’t belong.”

That feeling I knew too well. I squeezed Jet’s arm and he looked down at my hand as if surprised to see it there. Pulling back, I dragged my wine glass closer, staring into the blood-red liquid as if I could find some meaning there.

There was a lack of distance between us, and yet there was a chasm separating us that felt too far to jump. He’d helped me through my troubles, but I wasn’t sure how to help him.

“Do you need to go back?” I asked after gathering the courage to take a sip from my glass.

“To the funeral home? No. Silvia and Edoardo have everything covered. I think they were glad when I told them I’d be gone for the foreseeable future.”

“Are those your siblings?”

Jet’s lips twitched and his body turned toward mine. He lifted my hand from the table, long fingers smoothing over my skin before they tangled with my own. “Silvia is my oldest sister, but Edoardo’s my cousin.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Five. I’m the youngest.”

“Do they all work there?”

Jet sniffed, a hint of disgust or unease in the crinkle of his nose. “Not exactly, no. Silvia and Edoardo work with my dad. My brother, Alex, and cousin, Walter, work for my uncle Saul out at his place. But the others, every last one of them, they’re in the business, too. My oldest brother, Dino, moved out west and opened his own home. My cousin, Franco, and my other sister, Rebecca, opened a home and crematorium together over in Desolation, New York.”

Amusement flickered across his face as he watched me trying to contain my surprise. “Do you have any family who aren’t in the business of death?”